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Hobo Evolution Sign Poem
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A Dictionary of Old Hobo Slang
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Hobo Signs
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Sample Hobo Evolution Poem
A Dictionary of Old Hobo Slang
http://www.hobonickels.org/alpert04.htm
Hobo Signs
Sample Hobo Evolution Poem
SAFE HAVEN
At night you're cold,
Tired and hungry with
No place to go.
So sleep in the barn.
But there is a
Hooty man, waiting
With a gun.
Don't sleep in the barn.
So tired and hungry,
You only want a place to
Rest, and eat.
The aliens are coming to take you away-
They'll bring you bread as consolation.
--Jamie B.
THE WOULD-BE-BEGGAR
The would-be-beggar felt
pained and light-headed,
clutching at the fraying ends
of a world slipping away.
A second thunderclap rang out
in the humid night.
Flies and mosquitoes clung to
the beggars eyelids as
he stumbled through the tall
grass, towards a knotted oak tree.
A third thunderclap accompanied
by a cry of pain.
Reached the tree, running out of
time.
The beggar fumbles with grubby, gloved
fingers at the bark; his pleas for mercy
are just babbling now,
his motions are jerking and desparate.
In the dim moonlight he can just
make out the shape of the
inscription etched in the oak's bark.
Man with gun,
he thinks.
How could I have missed that?
The final thunderclap put
an end to such thoughts.
by Walter
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flat | A Dictionary of Old Hobo Slang | Hobo Signs | Sample Hobo Evolution Poem
A Dictionary of Old Hobo Slang
http://www.hobonickels.org/alpert04.htmHobo Signs
Sample Hobo Evolution Poem
SAFE HAVEN
At night you're cold,
Tired and hungry with
No place to go.
So sleep in the barn.
But there is a
Hooty man, waiting
With a gun.
Don't sleep in the barn.
So tired and hungry,
You only want a place to
Rest, and eat.
The aliens are coming to take you away-
They'll bring you bread as consolation.
--Jamie B.
THE WOULD-BE-BEGGAR
The would-be-beggar felt
pained and light-headed,
clutching at the fraying ends
of a world slipping away.
A second thunderclap rang out
in the humid night.
Flies and mosquitoes clung to
the beggars eyelids as
he stumbled through the tall
grass, towards a knotted oak tree.
A third thunderclap accompanied
by a cry of pain.
Reached the tree, running out of
time.
The beggar fumbles with grubby, gloved
fingers at the bark; his pleas for mercy
are just babbling now,
his motions are jerking and desparate.
In the dim moonlight he can just
make out the shape of the
inscription etched in the oak's bark.
Man with gun, he thinks.
How could I have missed that?
The final thunderclap put
an end to such thoughts.
by Walter